New Mexico is in a drought. The worst on record, it’s been said. At least in the records of whoever decides which records are okay records. I don’t know who decides, and how old the records are.
monsoon seasons. You may have a different idea of a monsoon. In Santa Fe, it’s a mid-summer time when clear hot days break for brief afternoon rain. The past couple years, a couple days of just up to a quarter or half inch dribble.
Yesterday—maybe this year’s dose?—we had a brutal half hour of dime-size hail. A nervous Kitty Hippy hovered nearby. I worried even for the skylights.
I feared, too, for our
new tree, Junior.
Throughout, I hoped it quickly would become rain. But on it hailed. My iPhone buzzed a new ringtone: a NWS flash flood warning. (How they knew my phone was here and I wanted warning is a subject for another time…)
Today, our rain gauge shows 1.6 inches. Wow.
After a half hour, peace. Outside, the aroma of fresh salad revealed shredded plants.
A third to a half of Junior’s leaves fell, and some small branches. Several pierced leaves remain among those left. I hope Junior survives this year and flourishes next.
Time will tell.